


some gold forged plan

by sempervirenss



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, Romance, Soft Hordak (She-Ra)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempervirenss/pseuds/sempervirenss
Summary: Once, he cursed this planet with its overly thick atmosphere and strange, starless skies. But now—now it’s all he has left.Because it’s her planet.(Or Hordak contemplates his future in the aftermath.)
Relationships: Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 204





	some gold forged plan

The journey to Bright Moon is not a swift one.

It happens in fits and starts—there are refugees scattered throughout the lands, burning buildings to be saved, separated families, wandering clones, wild animals rummaging through the rubble. Throughout it all, there is smoke and ash and a sense of loss—and triumph. The victory was hard-won, but it was a victory nonetheless.

Hordak moves through the rebellion like a ghost. And perhaps he is. He’s just another remnant of Prime, wandering aimlessly through unfamiliar lands. To those who don’t know him, he isn’t even quite a person. He’s seen a few of the villagers treat the clones with equal parts distrust and a determination to pretend they don’t exist. He’s just another creature who themselves freed of the hive mind. To the princesses, he’s something else entirely. He can feel eyes upon him, and he does not begrudge them their suspicions. If their positions were reversed, he probably would have imprisoned them. That he’s not in a cell is something of a surprise.

He suspects it has to do with the woman at his side.

“—Damage to infrastructure as an opportunity,” Entrapta is saying. “We’ve got the chance to rebuild it from the ground up! And now with all of the magic freed, we can incorporate the Horde tech. I’ve been salvaging as much as possible, and I’ve got Emily hunting down any of those bots she can. Now that they’re disconnected, they’ve just shut down—some kind of failsafe, which makes sense. Horde Prime didn’t really seem into that whole free will thing, so he wouldn’t want uncontrolled bots running all over his ships every time there was a power outage.”

Hordak nods, enjoying the sound of her voice. He missed it—even when he didn’t know there was anything to miss. That hollowness he felt when he was plugged back into the hive mind, when he had half-memories haunting his every waking moment, it wasn’t because he’s defective, as he’d thought—it was because he’d lost the few people who mattered.

And he likes to listen to her. It’s a reminder that they’re both here—and there’s work to be done.

They stop at the next village in the early evening. Hordak watches as the Queen of Bright Moon greets a young man with moss-green skin and delicate wings. Hordak doesn’t recognize this town or its name; presumably, it was too small for his notice when he was waging his own war. Now, he’s helping them rebuild. The irony is not lost on him. 

“Our water—it isn’t good,” says the young man. “We have a mechanic who built a filter, but we’ve been having trouble and—”

Queen Glimmer holds up a hand. “Say no more. Entrapta?” She glances over her shoulder.

“I’ll take a look at it,” says Entrapta, taking Hordak by the arm and walking quickly away. It’s a gesture that once, he would never have allowed. But now he welcomes it for reasons he hasn’t entirely articulated, not even to himself. Entrapta calls over her shoulder, “You make sure Emily settles in, okay?” This is directed at Force Captain—no, she’s just Scorpia now.

Everything’s changed.

Scorpia waves a crimson claw in acknowledgment.

The water filtration system is tucked behind a large, community building. It’s a series of pumps and pipes, descending deep into a well. The edges of the pipes are rusted and Entrapta’s eyes gleam with eagerness as she kneels before them. She always keeps a few tools with her, metal bits crammed into pockets. There’s even a tiny wrench tucked behind one ear. “Do you think you can fix it?” asks Hordak. Not because he doubts her skill, but because these pipes look ready to fall apart.

“I can fix anything,” Entrapta says airily. Then, a bit more grudgingly, “With enough attempts. And tools. And time.”

“I notice Emily’s left leg still sticks,” he says.

She flashes a grin at him before kneeling in front of the pipes. “I told you. I like quirks.”

They work in companionable quiet; it’s almost like being back in his sanctum, all those months ago. It’s so familiar—she murmurs quietly to herself, fingers deft and certain, hair doing what her hands cannot. And she was right—this filtration system can be fixed. It’s a matter of replacing some of the parts in the pump, cleaning what they cannot replace, and making sure no small mechanical parts fall into the grass.

It’s peaceful. And Hordak can’t bring himself to trust it. He half-expects Prime to reappear, to take the body of another clone—or even his own. Hordak looks down at his hands; he holds a sharp tool meant to pry the pump’s front panel free. Perhaps he shouldn’t be holding it.

No. Prime is gone—and he won’t return. Hordak knows that, but the unease still lingers in these moments of quiet. It’s probably the result of being taken as a vessel, even only temporarily. Having his control wrenched away… it was one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Once, he would have considered it an honor. Any one of Prime’s brothers would have gladly given up his body. But now, the thought is repulsive. His body, his name—they’re his. And he refuses to let anyone else have them.

The very thought seems to summon footsteps. Hordak looks up sharply, fingers gripping the tool.

One of the clones comes toward them at a quick trot. He’s smiling—and Hordak recognizes him at once.

The _Other One._

Hordak refuses to call another by his name. It’s something of a point of pride with him. Irrational, perhaps. But he’s earned his name.

“Hi, Wrong Hordak!” says Entrapta. She has a streak of dark oil across her cheek and that tiny wrench at the corner of her mouth. One strand of hair tugs it free, and she turns to look at the other clone.

“Brothers!” The Other One has taken to calling Entrapa the way he would with any other of his brethren. It might have put Hordak on edge, if not for the obvious adoration in the clone’s face. And from the fragments he’s heard, Hordak knows this particular clone aided the rebellion many times, likely saving her life. “I brought you food! It’s one of those strange green dishes, but I’ve been assured it’s very nutritious.” He holds out two bowls of salad.

Hordak eyes them skeptically. “Do they not come in smaller sizes?” he asks.

The Other One wilts a little. “You—you wish them to be smaller?”

“No, no, that’s all right,” says Entrapta. To Hordak, she says, “It’s hard to grow vegetables in smaller sizes. I mean, if you want to bake tiny things, that’s easier. Or soup. Or tiny drinks. But fresh produce… you’d have to cultivate certain strains of plants and grow them in controlled circumstances. Maybe I’ll try it someday.”

The Other One observes this exchange with apparent worry, his ears drooping. “Should I find something else?”

“This will be fine.” Entrapta takes the bowls and sets them down nearby. “Thanks, Wrong Hordak. You should make sure you eat something, too.”

The Other One nods, brightening at once. “Yes. The one with the claws asked me to dine with her and her friends.” He gives them one last smile before walking away.

Once he’s gone, Entrapta gives Hordak the smallest of frowns. “You’re being mean to him.”

“You coddle him,” says Hordak. “He’s going to have to learn if he wants to survive on this world.”

“I broke him,” says Entrapta. “It was kind of my fault that he ended up yanked out of the hive mind so fast. And he’s doing really well! All things considered!”

“He is doing better than many of the others,” Hordak allows, if only because it’s true. He’s seen some of the other clones stumbling about like all the light has gone out of the world—like they’re utterly lost without Prime to guide them. And some of them are lost. Many will probably expire before the year is out, unable to cope with their change in circumstances. His hand clenches. He remembers those first few weeks on Etheria, lost to all he knew. But he’d had the fire of purpose to keep him going. Even if it was all for nothing, a war fought in the name of a man who was never truly a brother to him, never all-knowing or all-seeing, never a worthy leader to follow.

But Hordak has found other people worth following.

“And if the name thing is bugging you,” says Entrapta, “Wrong Hordak will figure something else out. He was asking Perfuma and Frosta how they got their names yesterday.”

“How did his name even come about?” asks Hordak. The details of what occurred while he was under Prime’s control are still jumbled; he’s heard parts of the story, but there hasn’t been too much time for talking. They’re always on the move, fixing things, helping refugees, trying to do whatever the queen and the She-Ra ask of them. This is truly the first chance he and Entrapta have had any real privacy.

She shrugs. “It happened when we came back for Catra. Bow and I were looking for the server. We got locked in a lab, several clones attacked. There were more in those vitrines, and he was just so frowny. I’d hoped it was you—that’s why I brought the crystal along. I hypothesized it would jog your memory. When Glimmer came aboard, she told us what happened to you. I wasn’t just going to leave you there.”

A flush of conflicting emotions makes him glance away. Unfamiliar warmth. She came onto Horde Prime’s ship to find _him_. She still cared about what happened to him, even after being sent to Beast Island. And another part of him is cold at the thought of her on that ship being attacked by Prime’s servants. Things might have gone so differently if they’d managed to subdue her. For a moment, he imagines Entrapta with her hair cropped short, eyes flashing green and—

The metal creaks in his hand. He puts the small tool on the ground, where he won’t accidentally undo all of their work.

And then something she said registers.

“I am not frowny,” he says.

Entrapta beams at him. “Would you prefer a different word? How about ‘disgruntled?’ Or ‘cranky?’ Or ‘obstinate?’”

“You are,” he begins to say, then falters.

She lets out a breath. “Weird? Irritating? I know the others think—” While she says the words matter of factly, he can see some of the painful truth behind her eyes.

“Extraordinary,” he says, and her smile returns.

“I missed you, too,” she says. Then she heaves a sigh. “And my lab. And all of the work benches. Doing emergency repairs is exciting, but there’s no time to really dig into this, to give it the attention these systems deserve.”

“Should we put together a lab?” he says, corner of his mouth curling. “We could make do with one of these huts.”

She laughs. “I’m sure I can manage with this.” Her hair reaches for a screwdriver and she yanks down her mask. “Could use a partner, though.”

“Of course,” he says.

He won’t leave her side, not as long as she’ll have him.

And while repairing water purifiers isn’t exactly the same thing as building an inter-dimensional portal, it’s still something to do.

* * *

On the journey, they become used to sleeping near one another.

That first night after the battle, most of the rebels simply made beds of grass and cloaks; only the Queen and her friends had tents. Hordak was fully intending to find a quiet place alone but Entrapta took him by the elbow and led him to one of the smaller tents. Scorpia was there already, snoring softly against a pillow of flowers. Entrapta curled up on her side and Hordak found himself less than an arm’s reach away. There were no pillows or blankets, and when she was asleep, Hordak pulled his short cloak free. It was all the wrong colors—he would have burned it, but for the woman nearby. He placed it over her bare shoulders instead.

He turned to roll back onto his own side, then he saw one of the princesses in the door of the tent. She was a tall one, with freckles and a surprised look across her face. Perfuma, he would later find out. She looked from the cloak, then to Hordak, and she gave him a small, knowing look.

That look put him on edge. Made him want to snarl, to tell her to leave. It felt uncomfortably vulnerable, to have someone catch a glimpse of him like this. But the princess merely gave him a small nod and said, “All right, then,” before going to curl up beside Scorpia.

_All right then._

In the nights that have followed, Hordak has found better supplies than a mere scrap of cloak. Or rather—the Other One does.

“I found the thing you asked for!” the other clone says. “I asked some of the princesses, and it turns out that there was a weaver nearby and she’s been giving out blankets to refugees and—”

Hordak closes his eyes for the briefest moment. Part of him wants to snap, to just walk away. He almost misses those days when he could scare everyone away, if only so he doesn't have to deal with inane conversations. He’s not sure what it is about this clone in particular that irritates him—perhaps it’s the reminder of what he used to be, of what he is now. They share the same face, the same green-tinted eyes and clothing. Or perhaps it’s because he’s been adopted by the princesses. He found the one called Perfuma putting a crown of flowers on the other clone’s head only yesterday. Perhaps Hordak should keep this one near, if only to prevent the princesses from turning him into some kind of pet.

Hordak says, with deliberate calm, “I appreciate the work you put into this.”

It’s not quite a ’thank you’ but it’s close enough.

The Other One grins at him. “Of course, brother!”

Hordak folds the blanket over his arm, studying it. It’s warm, tightly woven. It will be more than enough to keep Entrapta warm.

There’s a slight inhalation of breath, and Hordak looks up. The Other One is still looking at him, and his smile has faded slightly. “What?” says Hordak.

“I… it’s nothing,” says the other clone. But the lie is a clumsy one, and Hordak gives him a sharp look.

“Do you need something?”

“No,” says the Other One. “I have all of my needs accounted for. But…” He hesitates, then seems to force himself to continue. “You were the first, were you not?”

“The first?” asks Hordak, frowning.

“The first to break free,” says the Other One. “To—to leave Horde Prime behind. You made this place your home. Did it not ever… frighten you? The silence?”

 _Ah_ , Hordak thinks. He should have known this was coming.

“Yes,” he says. Because he is no liar, either. “At first, I did not sleep more than a few scattered moments. I could not stand the darkness nor the lingering quiet. But as time went on, it became easier. I learned how to be on my own. And you will, too.”

The other clone glances at the blanket. “Brother—forgive me for contradicting you, but you are not alone.”

The words bring a sharp, almost painful sensation to Hordak’s chest and throat. He has to take a few moments before he can answer. “You’re right. I’m not.” He reaches out, places a hand on the Other One’s shoulder. “And neither are you.”

* * *

He catches the glances.

Hordak senses them when they’re eating the next night. Fires have been built, kept carefully contained within circles of rocks so the forest will not accidentally be set alight. There is a meal of dried meats and scavenged berries and Entrapta likes the berries, so he gives her his share, too. She’s talking about working on the ship she’s named Darla, occasionally peppering him with questions about how Horde ships work. It’s a pleasant way to spend some time—even if they are surrounded by others.

Every time Hordak looks up, he sees the flash of heads turning away. Those who don’t wish to be caught staring.

More and more people seem to be catching onto the fact that it is no mere random clone Entrapta has latched onto. The rebellion has its greatest enemy—well, perhaps second greatest—enemy in their midst, and he can hear the mutterings beginning to stir. He is sitting by one of their fires, eating their food, talking with one of their princesses.

Entrapta keeps talking about all of the projects they’re going to work on together, how they can fix up Darla, but Hordak keeps silent. He cannot lie to himself; he knows that at the end of this journey, there will be no warm welcome for him. He’ll probably be imprisoned.

He could run. The security here is laughable—Hordak could slip away.

But he won’t. Not while she’s here.

And if that means a cell for the rest of his days, well—it’s still more mercy than he probably deserves.

* * *

The arrival at Bright Moon is a bittersweet one.

The queen is clearly relieved to be home. She and her father walk through those shining gates, arms around one another. The other princesses are talking to one another, some discussing further travel while others express gratitude for a real bed. The queen tells Entrapta that they’re going to need to do a sweep of the place, to make sure that Prime’s bots left no sabotage. She brightens at once, hair carrying her swiftly into the castle. Emily follows, machinery whirring. Hordak begins to take a step after, but one of the guards lowers her weapon, blocking his way. He gives her a level stare—and receives the same in return. “Not a step,” says the guard quietly. “The queen will decide your fate.”

Queen Glimmer throws a look over her shoulder at him.

The She-Ra places her hand on the queen’s arm, says something quietly.

The queen frowns. “Take him to the…” She lets out an exasperated little breath. “The spare room. You know the one.”

A prison, then. It’s nothing less than he expected. The guards fall half a step behind him, flanking Hordak.

He has never been inside Bright Moon. It’s strange being here now—as a prisoner rather than a conquerer. The few times he pictured this place, he imagined a fortress. But this place is something else. The walls are painted bright, cheerful colors and the windows are high. He’s taken to a long hallway, and one of the guards opens a door.

“Inside,” she says, and he walks in.

The door clicks shut behind him. He hears a lock turn. Exhaling, he glances around the room.

There are pillows. The walls are painted.

It’s a… spare room. Not a prison.

But then he sees the slight burn marks on the floor—and there’s only one magic user he’s ever seen leave those.

Shadow Weaver. So this was probably where they kept her, if only at first. This is their paltry attempt at a prison, and if he were still leader of the Horde, he would have scoffed at such an attempt.

But he was never the leader of _the_ Horde, only _his_ Horde and now even that is gone.

He tried to conquer this world for Prime, poured years of his life, his body, his soldiers, into building an empire that spanned half the planet—only for Prime to dismiss it all.

It was a waste. All of it.

A slight tremble runs through his hands. The reconditioning restored much of his muscle mass, but such treatments are only temporary. And on Etheria again, the effects will happen all the faster. Once, he cursed this planet with its overly thick atmosphere and strange, starless skies. But now—now it’s all he has left.

Because it’s her planet.

Hordak goes to the bed, settles upon its edge. He has never been overly fond of rest, but he knows he needs it. He closes his eyes, expecting it to take a long while for him to sleep. But rather, he drops off so quickly that when the door opens, he’s groggy and barely awake. He sits up, blinking the world back into focus, his fingers sinking into a too-soft blanket. He tenses, ready to defend himself. But it’s not an attacker.

It’s her.

“Hey,” says Entrapta brightly. “I brought food.” She sets down a tray beside the bed. There are tiny, pale discs of… food? He can’t quite tell. “Pancakes,” says Entrapta happily. “They made them small when I asked. I already had some, but I figured you’d be hungry, too.”

“I—yes,” he says, a little haltingly. “That was thoughtful.”

“I’ve been up all night working on one of the fallen Horde ships. I tapped into their communications, trying to see if there’d been any remote signals sent here—maybe to set off any traps. But there’s nothing,” she says. “Adora and the others were worried about their bots continuing the fight, so I’ve been trying to tap into their mainframe. No luck doing it remotely yet, but we’ll get there.” She pulls out a small computer and waves it at him. “I’d like your thoughts, too.”

It feels unreal. All of it—the too-bright walls and the too-soft bed and the strange taste of the food in his mouth, and his pale hands and her. Entrapta sitting on the floor, drinking out of a tiny cup and studying a small handheld computer. And they’re alone, truly alone, for the first time since the final battle.

There’s so much he wants to ask her, but he doesn’t know how.

He spent months thinking that she betrayed him, that she was living here in Bright Moon and using her skills to aid his enemies. And then, he was certain that she was dead. To be exiled to Beast Island was to be executed, after all. No one returned from such a place.

He should have known she would be the first.

“Entrapta,” he says slowly. “What… what happened?”

She looks at him, then back down at her computer. “Well, it looks like there’s some kind of firewall put up, so I haven’t been able to—”

“Not with the bots,” he says. “At Beast Island. How did you escape?”

Entrapta angles her face away, and Hordak just knows that if she were wearing her mask, she would pull it down. “Oh, that. Well, Catra zapped me with one of those stunner baton things. Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was on a transport to Beast Island. It wasn’t bad, though!” She adds quickly. His face must have gone hard, because she continues faster. “There was plenty of First Ones tech! It was amazing. I built another bot and made myself a lab and there were some creatures that wanted to eat me, but it was fine because they never really succeeded. And sure, there was that signal thing that makes people lose their will to live, but that only really got to me in the end, right after Bow and Adora came for me.” She presses a strand of hair to her lower lip, like a person sorting through their thoughts.

At some point, Hordak knows he should thank the archer and the She-Ra for their part in Entrapta’s rescue. Not that they’ll welcome any thanks from him.

Entrapta studies him. “You’re angry. You’re frowning harder than usual.”

“I am,” he says.

“Did I say something upsetting?” she asks. “I’m trying to do that less. Mermista has been—”

“You said nothing wrong,” he says.

He wants to tell her that if he’d known, things would have been different. He’d have come for her, fought his way past any horrors that tried to stand in his way.

But if there’s one thing that he hasn’t quite managed to forget from his conditioning, it’s that intentions are worthless. Only results matter. Only success matters. He did not succeed, not when it came to her. Not when she needed him. He failed through inaction. He failed because he believed Catra’s lies, even when he knew she was a liar. He failed because this thing between them was still new and tentative, and he never had any kind of relationship that was not built upon a discrepancy of power. He served—or others served him.

It’s a painful thing to admit, even if only to himself.

“I am angry at myself. The failure was mine,” he says. “I allowed my—my own doubts to cloud my judgement. I was too quick to believe Catra’s lies that you would betray me.”

“Doubts about what?” she asks.

“Your attachment to me,” he replies.

She squints at him. “But—the data was all there!” Her hands and hair move about restlessly, as if looking for some chart to point at. “We spent time together! A lot of time! Sometimes I slept in the lab when you weren’t around, because I wanted to be there first thing for our work. And we talked a lot. I thought that meant we were friends, but—”

“We were,” he says at once, then grimaces. “Are. We are friends. You are—” _Everything._ “—A friend.”

She smiles for all of a few seconds before frowning again. “Then why’d you think I’d betray you?”

He struggles for an answer that won’t make him sound like a fool. “You are the first.”

“The first what?” she asks, her brows drawn tight.

“Person I could trust,” he says. “Someone who didn’t wish anything from me. A person who did not fear nor despise me.”

She tilts her head. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

“Perhaps because my force captain took you hostage,” he replies dryly. “Or because I conquered half of the planet in the span of a few decades. Or any other numerous reasons I’m sure the other princesses could list if you gave them five minutes.”

“Oh, it was more like a third,” she says. “You never actually conquered half the planet—I’ve seen the maps. And I was never a hostage, not really. With Emily and the vent system, I could’ve left. But the tech was just so much better in the Fright Zone. After the others never came for me, I thought they didn’t want me around. And then you came along and…” She shrugs.

Part of him wants to ask her to continue that sentence, but another question leaves his mouth. “You were sleeping in the lab? Back in the Fright Zone? Did no one give you a room?” The thought is rather appalling, and even more so that he never thought to ask. He just assumed that Catra or Scorpia put her in the officer’s quarters.

“Well, I sort of took over the closet they tried to keep me in,” she says. “Put a lot of tech in there, moved some tables. But on those late nights, I’d just find a place in the lab. Easier than going back.”

“I would have given you proper quarters,” he says, feeling unaccountably indignant. “Private ones.”

“The lab was fine,” she insists. “I liked it. It was where you were.”

_It was where you were._

His breath catches.

He doesn’t know how to respond in kind. So he says, “Did you want to work on that firewall?”

She beams, and he knows it was the right thing to say. She picks up the computer, and they lean over it together.

* * *

Several days pass with him in the spare room.

It’s a soft form of imprisonment. He is taken out once a day for a walk in the gardens, left to stand amidst half-dead flowers that one of the princesses is trying to resurrect. Then he’s escorted back to his room. He’s given three meals a day, all unfamiliar foods with too-bright colors. But he’s never given any technology, no tools, nothing that could be used as a weapon. His only visitors are the Other One, who seems to have free range of the castle, and Entrapta. Her visits are sporadic, but welcome.

It’s on the seventh day that Entrapta arrives with news.

“They’re going to have a tribunal tomorrow,” says Entrapta. She’s perched on one of the bed’s many pillows. He sits near her, watching her face. “To deal with all of the former Horde members.”

It’s as he suspected. “Pardons for Scorpia and Catra, I assume?”

“Oh, yes.” Entrapta nods. “The clones won’t be punished, either. Some defense about not having free will. Same goes for everyone chipped. Those who worked for the other Horde—your Horde—willingly, will have to do some kind of community service. It sounds like Scorpia will be given control of the Fright Zone as her job. She’ll be in charge of cleaning it up.” She heaves a gusty sigh. “I just hope she doesn’t throw out all of the tech. Maybe I’ll talk her into sending most of it to Dryl.”

“Could you do that yourself?” he asks.

She snorts. “I mean, I could. But they’re sending me back to Beast Island.”

His heart just about stops. “What?” His voice comes out hoarse, rough with sudden unease.

“Oh, yes,” she says, a little too airily. “Well, I mean, I worked for the Horde, too. And it was my technology that you used in Salineas, and I think Mermista’s still mad about that.”

Hordak’s mind races. She did work for him—technically, she betrayed the princesses. Perhaps not all of those sidelong looks were meant for him. The muscles in his forearms draw taut. “No. You’re not going back there.” Because he won’t let it happen. Hordak may have been content to let them keep him prisoner here, but if they try to send her back to that death trap… well, let them try.

He did not fight his way through reconditioning, kill his older brother, and allow himself to submit to this justice only to lose her.

“And you’re coming with me,” says Entrapta. “So’s Wrong Hordak. And a few others.” She reaches down to pick up one of the tiny macarons she brought to his room. They’re pink, a rather unappetizing color, but she seems to enjoy them. “It’s not forever—just for as long as it takes to clean up the place, make it less ‘horrifying,’ as Bow put it. We’re going to catalogue the old First One’s tech, see what we can salvage. After we figure out how to dismantle that signal thing. Or maybe just take it apart.” Her face glows. “No—even better. We repurpose it. Make it work for Glimmer, if we can. Try to build some kind of defenses for the planet, keep everyone safe. They seemed to think that was fair.”

So this is to be his fate. Consigned to an island brimming with nightmares and technological horrors.

With her.

“All right,” he says. At least he’ll be there to watch her back.

“And think on the bight side,” she says. “You’ll get to meet my new bot! I built her to fight monsters, or at least, to scare away the pookas when they tried to take my food.”

Of course she did. “I look forward to it.”

* * *

They leave a few days after the tribunal. Hordak is escorted to the First One’s ship that will be taking them across the ocean, and Entrapta meets him there. She reaches for him, wrapping both her hands around his. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

“As am I,” he says.

That’s when he sees who else is going with them.

There’s the Other One. He’s wearing different clothes—they’re soft and pink, probably from Bright Moon’s closets. Then there’s someone standing beside him. Green skin, pointed ears and—

Double Trouble’s grin is sharp. “Darling,” they say. “How good to see you again. I was just talking to this dear about how he’s never been anywhere, and honestly, if we were going to vacation somewhere I’d have picked a place with a little more sun. But losers can’t be choosers, I suppose.” They heave a theatrical sigh, then blink. “Are the two of you holding hands? That’s adorable.”

Hordak ignores them, and Double Trouble follows the other clone into the ship.

“This is going to be fun,” Entrapta says, and her cheer is enough to make him smile. “Ancient tech, secrets, bloodthirsty monsters. Think of everything we can find!”

He looks down at her hand, still wrapped around his. It’s not a future he could have ever imagined for himself, but he welcomes it nonetheless. 

They walk onto the ship together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my first foray into the she-ra world. You can find me on [tumblr](https://sempervirenss.tumblr.com).


End file.
